Death’s Mirror
by Rebekah DeVall
So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
- 1 Corinthians 15:53-54
Copyright © 2018 by Rebekah DeVall
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
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https://www.rebekahdevall.wordpress.com/
How do your human stories begin?
Ah, yes.
Once upon a time, with nothing but His words, the Master formed a garden. Green grass sprung from the dark, rich earth. Birds came to life, flitting between the sprouting trees. From the dust, the Master formed a Man – and after him, the Woman.
Only one commandment did He give them – do not eat of the tree. But humans are volatile. Woman ate from the tree and gave to Man, and in their sin I was formed.
Humans forever seek eternal life, and in their efforts fail. My task is never complete. I gather souls from dying bodies and bear them to their final resting places.
No Man will ever conquer me, for all Men fear Death.
****
Our story begins in the winter, thousands of years before the present.
A soul cried out from deep inland, desperate for death. Call it what you will – intuition, magic – but I always know when the time is come. I always know when a human will die. After all, I am Death.
The human form I took that day was unfamiliar to me, yet not unwelcome. No dark cloak covered my skullcap head, nor was there a scythe in my hand.
Dark curls brushed broad human shoulders. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the frozen lake. Brown leather boots fit snugly up to my human knees. A red cloak, clasped at the shoulders, swirled in the brisk wind.
The Master’s voice whispered in my ear. “You have no welcome here.”
“I sense a death-call,” I muttered back. “You cannot keep me from my dues.”
Snow crunched beneath my boots. I strode up to the castle, even as the wind wrapped ice-cold fingers around my delicate human form. Frail humans. Easily manipulated by nature’s whims.
The castle stood between mounds of snow. Stone walls soared above the ice, immovable against the blistering cold.
And above me, from an open window, rang a death-call.
I stepped back, cast an eye up the stone walls. The woman reclined at an ebony-framed window, her dark hair trailing over the sill and wafting on the breeze. A grin cracked my human lips. This one is mine. Perching at an open window at such elevation, in the snow and ice… no better way to die.
Distress, a troubled soul. I felt her pain even to the ground. Her sewing slipped from her hand, to her lap, and the needle pierced her finger.
“Give me a son? Three children. Three lost. Can my husband truly believe bearing children is an easy task?” She yelped, fingers moving more quickly as she sewed.
Drops of blood trailed down her hand, wrapping around her wrist that she held out from the window.
Three drops of blood slipped from her hand, dancing, prancing on the icy wind. They spattered into the snow at my feet.
How beautiful.
“If only I could have a child as white as snow...” she whispered, “as red as blood, and as black as the wood in this frame.”
She risked her life for lack of a child?
A sinister grin rose to my face. Darkness. Death. Her time was nearly here. Only moments before I had her squirming in my grasp. All humans fear death.
The woman looked down and saw me, but not as the man. No, rather felt that I had come to gather her. She screeched. She slipped inside, to safety, and slammed the glass window closed.
I knelt in the snow, curious. Three crimson drops of human blood soaked into the snow before me. The life of the flesh is in the blood.
“See, Death,” the Master spoke again, “You have no victory here.”
Ah, but I would return. For the woman would surely bear the child she so desired, and so would be her end.
Scarcely a year passed before I returned again, for a child she did bear. The woman’s soul lingered on the brink of my door.
The Master had nothing to say today.
In spiritual form, I flew up to the same windows at which the woman had sat. On the other side of the glass, the woman lay in bed, gasping for breath. Her blanket soaked up the blood she so willingly shed before.
I threw open the windows and entered the room.
A nurse crossed the room, closed the windows behind me. She shuddered as I brushed her shoulders.
The thoughts of every human in the room flooded into my mind.
The king: Holy Father, I beg of you, give my wife another breath. Let her live to raise our child.
The queen: My child? My daughter? Please, let him not be ashamed of me.
The nurse: She lives, but for how long? May God have mercy on her soul.
I swept forward, brushed my hands along the woman’s feet.
The mother’s soul leaped from her body. Opaque. Translucent. Invisible to the other humans. Wrinkles? Gone. Aging? Unseen. Pure and holy, this one.
Another one? The Master’s protection sheltered her; made her pure as snow. Even now, He called her home, to the castle in the sky.
I gathered her into my arms like a babe.
We lingered. The mother looked into my eyes, unafraid. Her soul longed for a final farewell.
She struggled to slip from my arms, but to no avail. Once in Death’s grasp, no soul may escape.
She gestured toward her husband, who held the babe. This I could grant her.
I drew near to the king. Eyes filled with tears, he bemoaned her death, blaming none but himself.
The mother whispered two short words in his ear.
Though her quiet voice was naught but a whisper, the king understood. He cradled his little girl in his arms for a moment longer before surrendering her to the nurse. “Her name is Snow White.”
The mother looked over her shoulder one last time to the bundle that was her coveted daughter.
I bore her away to the castle in the sky.
****
Many human years flew by. I passed along the warfront, gathering the souls of fallen knights – old and young, wounded and whole alike. Death makes no exceptions.
During these years, I discovered a certain ancient mirror. Perhaps I lingered about it overmuch. Forged from materials beyond human comprehension, the mirror bore words that no mortal could read. Translated to human tongue, it said: So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, for what is seen is temporary, but the unseen eternal.
Pity the humans could not read it. Too often they focused on the temporal, and not on the eternal.
How ironic, that such a phrase be engraved upon a mirror.
For thousands of years, this mirror moved from hand to hand. The mirror’s latest mistress grew enchanted by its power. Even from youth she bore the same slim form of Snow White’s mother, deep green eyes carrying the bewitchment of the woods. With the mirror’s power, she made herself forever paler, forever fairer. In a hundred years she aged not a day, for the mirror promised that the fairest of them all would live immortal.
Vain promises. Useless wishes. For as the woman’s exterior grew more beautiful, her soul decayed into polluted rags of burning cloth. Yet still she continued.
For years she stood before the mirror daily, speaking the words:
Mirror, mirror, on the wa
ll,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
I always replied: You, my queen, are fairest of all.
She seduced many men with her charms, including Snow White’s father. I had ignored the little babe for the last ten human years. Her father kept her tightly guarded behind locked doors, so that no danger might befall her.
Yet now, danger itself passed through the doors.
The fateful wedding day came, between Snow White’s father and the mirror’s mistress. I floated down the tapestry-laden halls, nothing but a clammy odor. No matter where I passed, the people shuddered, closing windows and slamming doors.
Up the marble staircases I swept, and into the royal wing of the palace. Exploring. Seeking Snow White. Wondering. A door creaked on my left.
“Who is there?” A little girl – nine, ten years old in human time – stood in the half-open door. Skin as white as snow. Ebony hair cascaded down her back, and her heart palpitated with adventure. Snow White.
I sighed, dropping into my princely form. “Hello, Snow White. Why are you not at your father’s wedding?”
“Nobody wants me.” Her little feet led her firmly across the corridor and her hand brushed my arm. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“First you were air, and now you’re a man.” She pinched me. “Are you real?”
“Maybe it’s magic.” I booped her nose.
Her soft hand wrapped around mine and dragged me across the hallway. She pulled me through the door.
Fearless child.
I stood within the door and looked about the room. It scarcely befitted a little girl. Tapestries clung to the walls, depicting gory battle scenes all too familiar to me. Birds sang outside, but the chill air in the room raised goosebumps on my human form.
I knew this room – the room wherein Snow White’s mother died.
The girl collapsed backward onto her bed, dress forming a fan all around her. “If you are magic, can you bring my Mummy back? She died in here. Da says so.”
“Is that so, child? Do you fear dying now too?”
She shakes her head. “No, I just want my Mummy. Can you bring her back?”
I shake my head. “When people die, they are gone forever.”
“Then when I die, I will go to see my Mummy.” She nods decisively.
So innocent, the child. I sat on the bed beside her, the ancient frame creaking beneath my human weight.
“What’s your name?” Snow White asked. She tugged at my hand.
“That is a secret, child.”
“I will call you Prince Charming,” she said.
****
Weeks came and left, my thoughts occupied with those two.
Snow White’s innocent faith and trust echoed through the trees of every forest I crossed, sang from the river-waters. The queen’s desperation for immortality echoed in the desperate cries of dying men as I bore them to the great pit beneath the earth.
At last, one day, I returned to Snow White’s castle.
The child grew since I last saw her. Still she sat in the same room, poring over an ancient book. Often, she closed her eyes and prayed to the Master.
“This is my child,” the Master whispered as I watched her. “You may not harm her.”
I found the queen before her mirror once more.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
I paused for the merest moment, weighing the options. While the queen was fair indeed, her beauty came from the external and covered a bitter soul. Snow White’s soul was precious, sheltered by the Master himself. At last, I drew a breath and replied:
You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
But Snow White is a thousand times fairer than you.
Her eyes widened and her fury grew. Not another word did she speak.
I stepped from within the mirror, that object of so much power, and ran my finger along the words engraved there.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
****
I returned more often to the mirror, and to Snow White.
The queen grew still further obsessed with the mirror and its power. The time came when she was no longer satisfied with its power, and I took residence within the mirror.
Again and again, she asked:
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
Daily, I replied the same.
You, my queen, are fair, it is true,
But Snow White is a thousand times fairer than you.
Years passed by in this manner. Not once did Snow White speak to me.
The queen’s thoughts ran together, so that they formed a single obsession. Snow White. Snow White’s peaceful face haunted her in waking and in sleeping.
The queen reached out to me, again and again. She dug into dark magic that no human should possess. And in her mind, she formed a plan. If Snow White were dead, she would no longer be the fairest. Her death would bring the end to the queen’s torment… or so she believed.
So I slipped through the halls, floating down the banisters, passed through the doors of the throne room, wherein the queen sat. A single man stood before her, his body reeking of sweat and blood. Not human blood. I knew the smell. Animals.
He shuddered as I passed him. I sat at the queen’s feet.
She spoke in a sultry voice.
“Take Snow White out into the woods,” she ordered. “I wish never to see her again. Kill her, and as proof that she is dead bring her lungs and liver back to me.”
The huntsman spoke not as he bowed, ever obeying her orders.
Under what pretense did he lure Snow White to the woods? I know not. A butterfly or a wounded creature, perhaps. Like the Master, her innocent soul always called her to the weak and helpless.
The huntsman held a hunting knife in his hand, bending over the kneeling Snow White. He would slit her throat…
I dashed forward, prepared to catch her soul. But Snow White felt the huntsman’s presence. Her eyes widened as she caught the glint of the sunlight on his steel blade.
“You mean to kill me.” Her words were dry, emotionless.
The knife trembled in his hands. ‘Twas more difficult to kill her when she watched him. “The queen has ordered it.”
Snow White squared her shoulders, looked him in the eyes. “Do it, then.”
The huntsman hesitated. Resolve spread across his face, and he shook his head. “Run away, you poor child.”
She stared after him as he strode away, leaving her behind.
Relief washed over him. He would not kill her himself.
I abandoned all thoughts of the huntsman, and followed Snow White.
She could not return to the palace. Yet the woods were full of wild boar, bears, wolves… resolve hardened Snow White’s eyes and, drawing her skirts about her, she set off into the forest.
The sun drew low on the far horizon.
Terror filled Snow White’s heart. Every leaf on every tree took on a soul of its own. Branches and stones that seemed to snatch at her feet. She stumbled.
How could she not fear me now? She lay so close to dying.
Snow White survived. She fell a final time, scraping elbows and knees against rough stones.
I pillowed her head in my hands.
She gazed up at me in recognition. Her spirit wavered, threatening to leave her body. But still she smiled.
“Hello, Prince Charming.”
“Hello, little one.”
“Please.” Her voice increased in tone, in desperation. “Take me now, if that is why you are here.”
So close to death, her soul thudded through her body in ghostly heartbeat. Yet she looked me in the eyes.
I stopped. Lowered my hands. “You know who I am?”
“Of course.” Her eyes narrowed, puzzled, as she watched me. “You are Death. I am not afraid of you
.”
“See, Death, you have no victory here.” The Master’s voice echoed in my ears. “You cannot take her yet.”
I groaned and loosed Snow White’s soul from my hold once again.
But she knew me. She knew why I had come.
Still, she was fearless.
****
To the queen’s credit, she waited until dawn of the next morning to approach the mirror again. Still, the same words left her mouth.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?
Snow White.
I did not need to leave the mirror to know that she yet lived. She was alive and well, in a small house in the middle of the woods, with seven small men who carried very large souls. The Master protected her far more than they ever could.
But the queen would have her satisfaction.So I replied:
You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
But Snow White, beyond the mountains
With the seven dwarfs,
Is still a thousand times fairer than you.
The queen cursed, raining insults upon the mirror.
“Bring me back her lungs and liver, I said. Is that too hard a task?” She ran her hands through disheveled hair, pacing backward and forward before the mirror. “What did he bring me, then, a hart’s lungs and liver? The fool. I shall have him killed.”
Her plans cemented in her mind. “Yes, him, and that Snow White as well. Fairest in the land, indeed. You’ll be fairer in a coffin.”
She called upon me then – dark powers that made her age in moments, darkened her skin to the color of ash.
I followed her as she slipped from the palace, wove her way carefully between the houses of the village, so that she might not be called out. Uncanny, this woman.
Sweet little Snow White never suspected the queen, in her appearance as an old peddler-woman. Even the knock at the door did not frighten her, though she was alone.
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